


As Dogs Do

by heonhoneydew



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: One Shot, Sadness, little bb sandor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:29:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heonhoneydew/pseuds/heonhoneydew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“'You’re a dog, alright,' Gregor had sneered at her, in rare garrulous form; and although she could look most grown men almost directly in the eyes, her brother’s shadow still passed over her in the hallway like a dark, heavy cloud." One-shot told from the point-of-view of the unknown Clegane Sister. Short and sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Dogs Do

**Author's Note:**

> I know a lot of people see the unknown sister as the youngest child, but my headcanon has her as the middle. With that, enjoy.

Eleanor was undoubtedly large — broad-shouldered and exceedingly tall for a girl of twelve years, with strong, square hands and a sloping nose slapped in the middle of two wide-set grey eyes. In her yellow silks, she was less of a maiden and more of a ship mast, her long black hair doing little to hide her thick neck and sharp jaw. Slippers never lasted long on her toes, and there was no use in wearing her mother’s rings on her thick fingers.

“You’re a dog, alright,” Gregor had sneered at her, in rare garrulous form; and although she could look most grown men almost directly in the eyes, her brother’s shadow still passed over her in the hallway like a dark, heavy cloud. And so she kept her head down, biting her lip, alternately telling herself to practice her courtesies and that Gregor was perhaps right.

 

—

She had imagined her father forgot about her more often than he remembered her — imagined that he pushed her off to some abandoned corner of the keep with a half-sober septa and enough dresses in hopes that she’d crawl out of her kennel a woman, or, at least, something like one.

She read well enough, true, and sang with a voice that was like a beach wind blowing over the lip of an empty bottle. But It was easy to forget her, really, in the shadow of Gregor and his many talents.

For it was one thing to be a large and beastly and a boy; it was another thing to be large and plain and a girl.

A dog, so to say.

—

It was getting harder and harder not to resent Sandor. Sandor, who used to crawl into her lap and ask her for stories. Sandor, who, if Eleanor remembered anything of their mother, remembered even less. Sandor, who, before the burns, made her laugh and, quite recently, was starting to reveal a sharp, glib tongue that still provoked the same reaction, albeit beneath her hands.

Sandor, who could actually be a dog and perhaps be admired for it.

“Seven Hells,” her father complained — to the Clegane children, to Eleanor specifically, to himself most of all — over dinner that evening. “What am I to do with this mammoth, when I can’t even pass her off on a little sniveling Doggett boy?”

Burns lingered in the family. It had been five weeks since House Doggett had arrived for what was supposed to have been a friendly visit — what might have been Eleanor’s greatest hope of leaving Clegane Keep once and for all. It came in the shape of Alan Doggett, a quiet, homely third or fourth son who looked as displeased with her as she was desperate for his approval.

She would have been happy to swallow the discomfort of the situation and smile as sweetly as she could manage — indeed, she had been doing a great job of it until three days into the Doggett’s company, when Alan decided to break his relative silence by telling Sandor that his burns made him look less like a dog and more like a dog’s arsehole.

Eleanor watched in muted horror as Sandor quietly turned on his heels and threw his fist with such force that Alan Doggett left Clegane Keep with a broken, bloodied nose.

And that was the end of that, for her at least. There was no talk of marriage or even a rekindling of friendship.

“Useless. Bloody useless. But news travels quickly — at least your brother’s stupidity managed to make a positive impression at Casterly Rock.” Her father turned in his chair and stared in Sandor’s general direction, somehow managing to not actually look at him all the same. “Might be you’ll be make something of yourself with fists like that. Might be you’re more like Gregor than we thought.”

And Gregor, who had been grinning stupidly into his soup, sat upright as if he had just been struck across the face.

And Sandor said nothing.

And Eleanor, who rarely cried for a girl, felt tears pricking at her eyes. “ _He is_ ,” she thought. “ _He is._ ”


End file.
